


live because of the sun

by likewinning



Series: even if we call it madness later [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: #UGHBRUCE, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: "You should be happy, Bruce."Sequel tothis one





	live because of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting around for a bit; it's time I guess. Title from Anne Sexton.

When Jason gets home from the restaurant, Tim and Roy are on the couch playing that stupid video game again where they're like, giant soccer balls that explode sometimes. Jason doesn't really get it and after seven straight hours of making stupid fancy pastries for some stupid special event Bruce forgot to tell him he had planned, all he wants to do is sit on the couch and watch _SVU_ like a normal human.

"Hey Jaybird," Roy says without looking up from the TV. His soccer ball thingy crushes Tim's and Tim says, "Mother _fucker_."

"Hey," Jason says. He squeezes onto the couch next to him and Tim pats his leg. "How was it?" Tim asks.

"Fucking ridiculous," Jason says. "Bruce changed his mind about what he wanted four different times and the only reason he didn't change it a _fifth_ time was because I threatened to set his office on fire."

Roy snorts, then restarts the game. "At least you guys are talking again."

Tim looks at Jason. His eyes are kind of huge which means he's probably been drinking too much caffeine again, and his hair's a mess so he probably didn't shower today. "You guys weren't talking?" Tim asks, and Roy coughs.

"Thanks man," Jason says to Roy. Roy shrugs, and grabs for the blunt he left burning on the coffee table.

"We talk," Jason says. "Just not - you know - like before."

"Oh," Tim says. Roy passes the blunt and Tim takes it without looking. "Because of us?" Tim asks, and of course the answer is _yes_ , but Jason shakes his head and runs his hand through Tim's hair.

"Don't worry about it, baby," Jason says. He gets up, leans down to kiss Tim's forehead. "I'm gonna crash. Wake me up when you want dinner."

When Jason gets to his room, he has a missed call from Bruce and some indecipherable text from Dick that's just a bunch of handholding emojis. Jason ignores them both and gets into bed with all his clothes on, still smelling like the restaurant.

*

Bruce usually works Saturday nights. He does it for two reasons: one, so Dick can have off to go party or whatever brain-killing thing he does, and two, so he never has to think about the implications of being _alone_ on a Saturday night. He's too old for this bullshit dating game anyway. He's too old for -

"And then I was a pilot for a while. You know, for the _Air Force_." The guy across the table - Bruce purposely forgot his name when he sat down and immediately asked if Bruce could "get the next one" because he was a little short on cash - actually _winks_ at him, and Bruce wonders if he's old enough yet to fake a heart attack.

"That's nice," Bruce says. "So what do you now?"

"Oh, uh," the guy says. He scratches at the stubble he didn't bother to shave. "You know, a little of this, a little of that."

"You're unemployed," Bruce says.

"Well, yeah, sorta," he says. "But Dick said you might be able to help me out with that, so…"

When Bruce leaves the restaurant - before dessert, which seems to offend his date - he has a text from Jason. His chest clenches for a minute, but when he opens the message it just says, _Gonna take the day off tomorrow. Tim's covering my shift._

 _Okay_ , Bruce answers. He adds _is everything all right_ , but he stands under the portico for five minutes before deleting that and hitting send.

On the way home, he calls Dick.

"Hey bossman," Dick says. "How was -"

"Please," Bruce interrupts. "Please stop trying to set me up with people."

"Aw, you didn't like Hal?" Dick asks. In the background, Bruce can hear the sound of the dishwasher, which means one of their asshole dishwashers probably called in again. Bruce can never keep them straight because Dick does all the hiring and most of them last less than a month.

"No," Bruce says. "I didn't. I'm almost fifty, Dick. I'm not about to start a relationship with someone that begins with me supporting them."

"One," Dick says, "No one's telling you to start a relationship. Maybe just to get some of that sexual frustration out -"

" _Dick_ -"

"And two - and you know I love him and I'd jump in front of a bus for him, but - _Jason_."

"That was," Bruce says. He clears his throat. "That was different. Jason was…"

"I," Dick says. He sighs. "I know, man, okay? But you gotta move on. I want you to be happy. And not because you keep scaring all my servers away by being a scary mean chef guy."

"He was garnishing that plate _all wrong_ -"

Dick starts laughing, and there's the sound of broken glass and him swearing.

"Was that another one of my dishes?" Bruce asks.

"Nope, gotta go, love you Bruce!" Dick says, and quickly hangs up.

Bruce drives the rest of the way home in silence. The house is quiet when he gets in, because it always is, and all the clutter on the countertops is right where he left it. He makes himself a drink and gets into bed with his book, still leaving the right side of the bed empty after almost a year.

*

Jason starts to walk into the office to check next week's schedule when he hears Bruce and Dick arguing and stops.

"Come on," Dick says. "You'll like this one, I swear."

" _No_ , Dick," Bruce says.

"Look, Hal was kind of a longshot, I admit it. But this guy has a job! You like books, right, Bruce? This guy's a _writer_."

"Have I heard of him?"

"Maybe," Dick says. "I dunno, he writes for some paper in Metropolis. But he's employed, around your age, great body -"

"So why don't _you_ date him?" Bruce asks, and Jason doesn't have to see him to know Bruce is trying not to grin.

"Ugh," Dick says. "You _know_ I have a ten-year rule, boss, or I would've been all over your bones before Jason ever was -"

Jason thinks that's as good of a time as any to open the door. They both stop talking and look at him, Dick like he's been having a conversation about the weather and Bruce - Bruce doesn't meet his eyes. Really hasn't in a long time.

"Hey," Jason says. "Scoot over Dickie, I need the schedule."

"I gotta go call Donna anyway," Dick says, shimmying out of the office. There's barely room in here for one person, let alone three. "Make sure we're still going to that show tonight. You're coming, right, Jaybird? Tim said he was in if you were."

Jason looks over at Bruce, who's pretending to do something with the product order, then back at Dickie. "I don't know," he says. "We'll see, I guess."

"Jay, it's a _rave_ ," Dick says. "Since when does Jason Todd not want to pop ecstasy with me and rub up against strangers?"

"He has a boyfriend," Bruce mutters from the desk, and Jason flinches.

"That never used to stop him," Dick says, but when that doesn't get a laugh he clears his throat and says, "Okay. Let me know I guess," and walks off.

"Thanks," Jason when Dick leaves. Bruce shrugs. "I guess I'm just… not in a partying mood these days."

"Maybe you're growing up," Bruce says. "It might be another decade for Dick."

"Oh, two at least," Jason says. "He'll be like Bowie, still covered in glitter at sixty."

"And still eating Frutti Pebbles for breakfast."

"And spending _six years_ doing his hair every morning."

Bruce chuckles at that, and Jason looks up from writing down his schedule just in time to see Bruce actually crack a smile. 

"I thought you forgot how to do that," Jason says before he can stop himself, and Bruce's hand slips on the mouse.

"Jay," Bruce says, at the same time Jason says, "Sorry. That was. I'm just - worried about you, B."

"So is Dick, apparently," Bruce says. "He keeps trying to set me up."

"Huh," Jason says, like he didn't just figure that out from their conversation, like there isn't a lump in his throat the size of a goddamn matzah ball. "Any - any winners?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Bruce says. He finally looks up from the computer. "We shouldn't talk about this."

 _No, we fucking shouldn't._ "No, we," Jason says. "I mean, you know about. You should be happy, Bruce. You should find someone who makes you…" Jason can't even finish the _sentence_ with the way Bruce fucking looks at him.

Jason stands there, and Bruce watches him, and Bruce's silences always made Jason want to throw the nearest sharp object at him but _this_ -

"You're right," Bruce says. "I'll let Dick try again."

"Yeah," Jason breathes out. "Yeah, you should do that."

*

"I thought you didn't want to go," Tim says. He and Roy are in the kitchen either doing a science experiment or making some kind of food - Jason can never completely tell with them, he just tests the fire alarm on a regular basis.

"I know," Jason says. "But Dickie looked really disappointed about it and I don't know, it could be fun."

Roy gives him a look over Tim's shoulder, and Jason ignores him. He doesn't _mind_ Roy staying here - Jason kind of owes him the favor - but Jason swears Roy sees Tim more than he does these days.

"Okay," Tim says, then, when something starts _smoking_ on the stove, "Ugh, Roy I don't think we were supposed to add that in yet."

Later on, when Tim's in the shower washing burnt gunk out of his hair and Roy's helping him clean up the kitchen, Roy says, "Here I thought little Jaybird outgrew the rave days."

"Fuck off," Jason says. "You know _you_ were gonna go with or without us."

"Well, yeah, cuz I thought I'd find a little twinky thing to take home. Or take me home, since home is a couch right now. Whatever," Roy grins. "You still remember how to stay up past 11 o'clock?"

"Shut _up_ ," Jason says, and throws a dirty towel at Roy. Roy laughs. "I'm just yanking you, Jaybird," he says, and pinches Jay's ass. "But seriously, you okay?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "Yeah, I guess I just… I need to get out of my head for a while, you know?"

"I'm sure your cute little boyfriend would be happy to help with that," Roy says. 

"You guys are really getting along, huh?" Jason asks. They always have, but Jason can't remember the last time he came home and Tim wasn't already here, hanging out with Roy. Jason doesn't mind, just tunes out their ridiculous conversations about _Game of Thrones_ and physics and waits for them to move onto something he understands, like the first five seasons of _Buffy_.

"You got a good one, baby," Roy says. "Sorry if I hog him a little. I've been auditioning for a couple of bands, but… It's weird doing it without Kori, you know?"

"I know, man," Jason says. "You'll get it."

"Shit," Roy shrugs. "I think we _all_ need a fucking rave tonight." He tosses a rag in the sink and grabs his phone out of his pocket. "I'm gonna see if I can get us some x."

*

"There you are," Tim says. "Roy told me to make sure you hadn't passed out in a bathroom somewhere."

" _Tim_ ," Jason says. His eyes are all lit up, high as shit, and there's purple glitter on his cheek from Stephanie going crazy with her new highlighter. Jason grabs onto him, lifts him off the ground and swings him around like he's weightless.

"I missed you, baby," Jason says, and sticks his tongue down his throat. He tastes like too many shots, and when Tim pushes his face into the crook of his neck he smells like salt and tequila.

"I've been right here," Tim says. He lifts his face back up to look at Jason. "Where did _you_ go?"

"Dunno," Jason says. "Dickie and I were dancing. And then Steph found some good weed. And -"

"Dude," Tim says. "Don't you have to work tomorrow?"

Jason shrugs, face going blank. "Bruce can deal if I'm late. He'll just change his mind about everything I'm supposed to make tomorrow anyway."

"Okay," Tim says. He knows things have been weird between them lately - weirder than they were. Roy tried to explain it one time when they were playing GTA, but he got kind of quiet when Tim asked why Jason left, so Tim lit up a blunt instead and they both kind of forgot about it.

"Tim," Jason says. He sets Tim back on the ground, and Tim kicks an empty solo cup out of his way. "Tim," Jason says again. He holds Tim's face in his hands, and his eyes are so messed up they keep shifting around like they're trying to follow some light only he can see.

"Yeah, Jason," Tim says. He's pretty fucked up, too; he and Roy smoked a couple of joints each while they were looking for Jason.

"You know," Jason says. "You know I really -"

"There you are," Roy says, coming up behind Jason and grabbing him by the hair.

" _Roy_ ," Jason says, turning around to tackle Roy into a hug. Tim raises his eyebrows at Roy behind Jason's back, and Roy shrugs.

"Hey, I got an idea," Roy tells Jason. He pushes Jason's sweaty hair away from his forehead. "Why don't we get you a nice big cup of _water_?"

"Mm, okay," Jason says. "But then you guys are gonna dance with me, right?"

"You got it," Roy says. They lead Jason over to the bar to get him a water, and Jason immediately starts flirting with the cute bartender.

"Is he okay?" Tim asks Roy, and Roy makes a face.

"I mean, he will be," Roy says. "He needs a bed and about ten gallons of water, but… yeah, I think so. You want me to help you get him home?"

"I…" Tim starts. He looks back over at Jason, who's pulling ice cubes out of his empty cup and tossing them into his mouth, missing every few times so ice spills on the floor. "Yeah, I think that might be good."

*

"Hello?" Normally Bruce would tell anyone calling him at four in the morning to fuck right off, but - it's Jason.

"Hey, B," Jason says. He sounds drunk, sounds like when he'd call from some party downtown to ask for a ride because _all the cabs go to sleep at two, Bruce, duh_.

"Jay," Bruce says. "Are you all right?"

"I'm good," Jason says. "I'm great." He's quiet, then, "I just. I wanted to say that…"

"Jay?" Bruce asks. He feels sweat on the back of his neck and he's so _tired_.

"I used to get so mad at you," Jason says. "Telling me to grow up when I was fucking _eighteen_ and all I wanted to do was party and bake and fuck you until I couldn't feel my legs."

"I know," Bruce says. Jason left more than once for days at a time, when they'd fight so loud the neighbors would yell at them. He always came home eventually, when Bruce showed up wherever he was staying with an apology. Always did, until that last time.

"Thing is," Jason says. "I think I _did_ grow up while I was gone, and it fucking sucks, Bruce."

Bruce laughs, even though it hurts. "You're not wrong," he says. "Just wait until you start getting grey hair."

"I like your grey hair," Jason says, and Bruce lets out a breath. "And those little wrinkles in the corner of your eyes. Even though I think I probably gave you some of them."

"You may have," Bruce says. 

"Yeah, I must've really made you nuts," Jason says. He coughs, and Bruce is sure Jason smoked too much tonight, wants to ask if Tim is taking good care of him, if he's home somewhere safe.

"You still do," Bruce says, and then winces because it sounds too much flirting, too much like -

"I miss you," Jason spits out. "Not - god, I _know_ , Bruce, but I hate not talking to you. I hate that I wanted to punch you in the dick for that catering thing the other day but shit's so fucked up between us that I didn't just razz you like I would before."

"Jay," Bruce starts.

"I'm pretty fucked up right now," Jason says. "I know. But I mean it, B. We gotta stop being so fucking weird, okay?"

"You know you're saying this at four in the morning," Bruce points out.

"Fuck you, that doesn't count. Just. Okay?" Jason asks.

"Okay," Bruce says. "Should I find someone to work for you this morning?" he asks, and Jason scoffs.

"Fuck that, man," he says. "Gimme an hour to sleep and I got this."

Bruce doesn't fall back to sleep at all.

*

"No," Bruce says when he walks into the kitchen and Jason's playing Motley Crue. "It's too _early_ for this garbage, Jason."

"Yeah, well," Jason says. He looks up from the pastry dough he's rolling; his eyes are bloodshot, bags underneath them, flecks of leftover glitter all over his forehead. "This is what's keeping me awake right now, so sing along or get out of my kitchen."

Bruce _doesn't_ sing along, because there is no way he would ever admit to knowing the words to this shit, but he lingers longer than he needs to watching the way Jason's face lights up when he shouts _I'm on my way, home sweet home_.

Later on, he finds Jason out in the back courtyard with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. He stands there in front of the bench for a minute before Jason looks up at him and says, "Sit if you're gonna sit, old man. It's a public space."

Bruce sits down, pries the book out of Jason's hands - _Crime and Punishment._ "I was just thinking," Bruce says. "How you ripped up my first edition copy of this when you got mad at me because I wouldn't buy you tickets to Coachella."

Jason winces. "I think that was the worst thing I ever did to you."

"No," Bruce says. He hands the book back and Jason slips a piece of paper in it to mark his page. "I don't think so."

"Bruce," Jason starts.

"I have another date tonight," Bruce says. "Dick swears this one is normal."

Jason snorts. "Normal for Dickie probably means he sells weed at the Farmer's Market."

"Or he ghost writes romance novels."

"Ooh, or maybe he raises llamas. Llamas are cool, Bruce."

"Mm," Bruce says. "Are you okay with this?"

Jason sucks his cigarette down to the filter, stabs it out on the bench. "No," Jason says. "But what am I gonna do, sabotage your life because this didn't work?"

"It could've," Bruce says.

"I gotta get back to work," Jason says. Bruce reaches for him, wraps his fingers around Jason's skinny wrist, the place where Jason used to have a million bracelets from a dozen clubs, and Jason freezes, stares down at him, and Bruce realizes they haven't touched, not really, since -

"Why did you come back?" Bruce asks.

"Ran out of fun money," Jason says.

"Jay."

"Fucked half of continental Europe," Jay says.

" _Jason._ "

"European dicks are _weird_ , Bruce."

" _Jay_."

"Because I fucking _missed_ you, idiot," Jason snaps. He tries to snatch his arm away but Bruce catches his hand, runs his fingers over Jason's knuckles.

"Look," Jason says. "Go on your dates. It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine."

"Jason…"

"We're good, Bruce."

Jason pulls away, and Bruce lets him go. He stays outside for a couple of minutes, paging through the book Jason left behind.

*

When Tim gets to Jason's place, Jason's sprawled out on the couch looking like someone kicked the dog he doesn't have. There's a half empty bottle of Jaeger on the coffee table in front of him, and Buffy's on TV talking about when she died.

"I thought you hated this season," Tim says.

Jason curls his legs up so Tim can sit down on the couch. His eyes are out of focus and there's a joint hole in his t-shirt. "Hey baby," Jason says. "How was work?"

"Fine," Tim says. "I stayed a little while to help serve. One of Dick's new kids didn't show up."

"Yeah," Jason says. "I wouldn't either for what Bruce pays them."

"Mm," Tim says. "Where's Roy?"

"Dunno," Jason says. He reaches for the bottle and takes a hit, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "He said something about an audition, I think."

"Oh," Tim says. They sit there for a while, Jason half dozing every time a commercial break comes on. Tim texts Roy to wish him good luck, and Roy texts him back a heart and a smiley and, for whatever reason, a taco emoji.

"Jay," Tim says after a while. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jason says. He squirms on the couch, and Tim pulls his legs into his lap. "I'm fine, man."

"You don't _seem_ fine," Tim says. "You seem like - like when you first got back."

"Nah," Jason says. "I hated you then."

Tim snorts. "Yeah, I noticed. But -"

"Hey," Jason says. "Should we order a pizza? I don't feel like cooking."

"That's fine," Tim says. "But Jason -"

"Ssh," Jason says. "I love this part."

Jason passes out on the couch a little while later, but Tim waits around for Roy to come home and catches him at the door. Roy's face is all lit up when he comes in, hair back in a messy ponytail, sweat glistening on his neck where that little constellation of freckles lives.

"Guess _what_ ," Roy says, and Tim shushes him and points to Jason but asks, "What?"

"I'm gonna be in a band that's opening for fucking _Chili Peppers_ ," Roy says.

"Holy shit, man," Tim says. "That's awesome."

"I _know_ ," Roy says. He goes in for a hug and Tim tries to squirm out of it but Roy lifts him off his feet and he smells like sweat and weed and smoke and Tim breathes in a little too deeply, holds on a little too tight until Roy puts him back on his feet.

"What's up with our boy?" Roy asks, and Tim winces.

"I think it's," Tim says. "I don't know what to do."

"Yeah," Roy sighs. "This happens. Come on outside with me and we'll have a beer."

When they get out on the balcony, Roy chatters on about his audition for a while, and his eyes are so bright and huge when he talks that Tim can't look anywhere else. He remembers Jason telling him how he used to go watch him play every Tuesday night at some dive downtown, how everyone knew Jason was too young to be there but they let him in anyway, let him push up to the front and just soak in the music.

"He loves you," Roy says when he finishes his first beer and moves on to the next. "You know that, right?"

"I think so," Tim says. "But…"

"It's not always enough, is it?" Roy asks, then nods. "Look," he says. "If someone leaves, it's gonna have to be you. Jay… Hell, Jason stayed with Bruce for fucking _years_ , and that was one disaster after another. Did he tell you about when he wrecked Bruce's car?"

"Yeah," Tim says. "But they were crazy about each other." Roy looks at him, raises his eyebrows at him over his beer bottle. "I mean, they still are."

"They'll be fucking nuts over each other until it kills them," Roy says.

"Jesus," Tim says. He drains his beer. "We watch too much Buffy in this fucking house."

They wake Jason up and order a pizza, and Jason snuggles between the both of them on the couch while they mow down two large pizzas and two orders of breadsticks. Jason rests his head on Tim's shoulder, and after a while he starts talking again and seems a little better, but Tim catches Roy's eye over Jason's head more than a few times. When Jason's ready for bed, Tim goes with him, but he stays up half the night just listening to Jason breathe, thinking about what Roy said.

*

When Jason wakes up at 4AM for work, Roy's still awake on the couch playing Halo, but he leaves the game so he can go track down Jason in the kitchen.

Jason's hungover as shit, squinting at the coffee maker like he's never seen one before.

"Hey babe," Roy says. "We gotta talk."

"Not now," Jason says. "I'm dying."

Roy reaches over and switches the coffee pot on for him, and Jason looks at him like Roy just gave him his last cigarette. "Thanks," he says.

"Sure," Roy says. "So look: if you're gonna fuck Tim over, you better do it now before he gets any more attached to you."

Jason blinks at him. "What."

"You know what, Jay," Roy says. "You think I don't remember how this goes? How many times did you end up at my place every time you and Bruce had a fight?"

"A lot," Jason says. He drops his gaze to the floor. "A lot."

"Yeah," Roy says. "You'd crawl into my bed, this sad, pretty little ball of anger, tell me how you were _done_ , and for a while there I - but I know how this goes."

"I'm sorry," Jason says, and he looks so fragile, so tired, and Roy just wants to scoop him up and put him back to bed and tell Bruce to fuck _off_.

"I know you are, Jay baby," Roy says.

Jason pours his coffee, chugs it down black and scalding like the animal he is. He leans against the counter and shuts his eyes for a minute, then looks at Roy and asks, "You really care about him, huh?"

"Fuck off," Roy says. "Maybe I'm just waiting around for sloppy seconds," he says, but it doesn't come out as much of a joke as it should.

"I love him," Jason says. "I just."

"Talk to him," Roy says. "Even if you and Bruce -"

"We're _not_ ," Jason says.

"Whatever," Roy says. "Just don't waste his time."

*

"And then Wally bet me he could do more shots than me, except I don't know who won because I sorta blacked out and woke up on this giant biker-looking guy's feet."

"Uh-huh," Jason says. He hates making crepes. Bruce does this shit to him on _purpose_.

"His name's M," Dick says. "He didn't want to be friends, even though I apologized for - Jay, you're not listening to my story."

"Sure I am," Jason says. He beats the dough up too hard and has to start all over again. Tim's so much better at this, with his soft little hands. "Wally pissed somebody off at the club, right?"

"I mean always, but _no_. I think I'm in _love_ , Jay."

Jason looks up at him. Somehow Dick has more flour on him than Jason does, and his cheeks go a little pink when Jason squints at him. "You mean like how you were in love with the checkout girl at Rico's?"

"No."

"Or the waiter at the diner who never charges you for pie?"

" _No._ This guy last night didn't even ask for my number, Jay."

"Holy shit," Jason says, and Dick elbows him.

"I did a little snooping, though," Dick says. "He owns a restaurant across town. I'm gonna go stalk him there."

"How romantic," Jason says. He goes to wash his hands, and Dick follows him to the sink. 

"Speaking of romance," Dick starts.

"Nope. Uh-uh. Outta my kitchen."

"Jay…"

"I mean it, Dickie," Jason says. He tosses his paper towel in the trash, turns around and pokes Dick in the chest. "This a thing we're not discussing, okay? I have a boyfriend. There's your romance, okay."

"Hm," Dick says, and he looks like he's going to say something else, but then he changes his mind and says, "Do you think M likes flowers or chocolate?"

*

Bruce stops him on his way out the door a few days later. "There's a convention in Central City this Friday," he says. "I want you to go with me."

"Um," Jason says. The last time he and Bruce went to a convention together, they got in such a huge fight Jason left the damn _country_. "Why don't you take Tim?"

"Because I'm asking you," Bruce says.

"Tim's good at his job," Jason says. "He's a good chef, Bruce."

"I know that," Bruce says. "He does wonderful work. Traditional."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "You calling him boring?"

"I'm saying he's never made cucumber cream cheese frosting."

"Anyway," Jason says. 

"Come with me," Bruce says. "We can go to that bookstore you liked so much."

Jason lets out a breath. He remembers the one Bruce means. They had copies of Kerouac in every language, and Bruce leaned over his shoulder and murmured _Mexico City Blues_ in Spanish. Jason pouted until Bruce bought him nearly the whole store.

"Please," Bruce says. "You can make whatever you want for it."

And well, Jason can't help hearing the challenge in it, the trust. "Anything?"

*

Tim's chattering away about going to see Roy's band this weekend when Jason interrupts. "I'm not going."

"What?" Tim asks. He stops chopping strawberries to look over at Jason.

"I can't," Jason says. "Bruce asked me to go to that convention thing in Central City tomorrow."

"Oh," Tim says. He sets down the knife, and his body goes still like when Jason tries to ask him about his parents. "That's nice."

"It's just for the weekend," Jason says.

"Right," Tim says. "When were you gonna tell us?"

"I'm telling you now," Jason says. He takes the knife from Tim and starts finishing his work because Bruce asked for eighty fucking thousand strawberry shortcakes today and if Tim can't talk and work they'll never get done.

"Yeah, Jay," Tim says. "It's fucking Thursday."

"I know," Jason says.

"Roy's so excited," Tim says. "Everyone's going. Even Jesse's coming out, and she _never_ sees us."

"I love Jesse," Jason says, and Tim mutters something back.

"What was that?" Jason asks, and Tim looks up at him, eyes bright and hard and mean.

"I said, not as much as you love Bruce."

"That's not what this is about," Jason says. The strawberries are mush in his hands and he's going to have to run out and get more. "He's my boss. He asked me to go. What was I supposed to do, tell him to fuck off?"

"It wouldn't be unusual," Tim says. "Whatever, Jason. Go. At least if you run off to Europe again I'll be here to hold things over."

"That's not fair," Jason says.

"No," Tim says. He scoops up handfuls of mangled strawberries and throws them in the trash. "It's really not."

*

"Holy shit," Roy says.

"You mentioned that," Tim teases.

"It's an _arena_ ," Roy says. "We're opening at a fucking _arena_ , Tim." He's been pacing around backstage for the last twenty minutes, chugging shots of Jack and stealing hits off everyone's cigarettes. He's dressed like a rockstar, ripped up jeans and a Motley Crue t-shirt and Tim doesn't even _like_ Roy's band very much, but he's buzzing just as much as everyone else.

"Hey," Dick says. "Hey, did you do a rider?"

"Fuck off, Dickie," Roy says.

"Come on, go tell them I want some Pixie Stix _right now_. But only the blue ones."

Roy throws an ice cube at him.

Someone from the venue pokes their head in. "Ten minutes, guys."

" _Fuck_ ," Roy says.

"Hey," Tim says. He pulls Roy to the side, away from where Wally and Dick are making concoctions out of tequila and gatorade, away from where Steph and Kara are flirting with Roy's bass player.

"You're gonna be great, man," Tim says.

"Yeah," Roy says. He laughs, and it sounds like a cough. "Never done this without my little groupie before, y'know?"

"Well, he's an asshole," Tim says. He swallows, reaches up and puts his hand on the back of Roy's neck. He's warm as hell and he smells like Jack and smokes and he licks his lips. "I'm here. We all are."

"Yeah," Roy says. "Yeah, you all are," Roy murmurs, but he's only looking at Tim, and even with the noise in the room everything feels so quiet. Then Roy blinks, turns and looks at everyone else and hollers, "Hey, who's up for a backstage orgy?"

Donna throws a drumstick at him.

*

The first day of the convention they barely have time to talk. Jason's so busy chatting with everyone else there, talking up the restaurant, trying to remind Bruce not to be a social fucking wallflower and actually promote himself. On breaks they visit the other booths, and Jason makes smartass comments about the other shitty fucking restaurants to try to make Bruce laugh, but he's too distracted trying not to have a meltdown in the crowd.

"I hate doing this," Bruce says at the end of the day. "I know it's good for business, but if one more person tries to sell their terrible product to me -"

"Bruce," Jason reminds him. "That's kinda the point, man."

"Yes," Bruce says. "But -"

Jason interrupts him to say hi to one of the girls from the booth next to them, and he loses Bruce to the crowd again for a while. It feels good being here, away from everything, even though he keeps checking his phone for texts from Tim and there's nothing. He tries to swallow that sinking feeling, tries to tell himself maybe the reception is bad here even though he has eighty-two texts from Dick talking about Fruit Loops vs. Fruity Pebbles.

The second day is harder. It's busier for one, but Tim still isn't answering his texts. Roy sends him pictures of the hugeass venue he'll be playing at, selfies with him and the band, videos of Dick and Wally doing cartwheels across the stadium grounds. Donna sends him pictures of Roy guzzling Jack, Tim right beside him smiling and laughing.

"Something interesting?" Bruce asks when he sees him checking his phone again, and Jason shrugs.

"Roy's got a show tonight. It's kind of a big deal."

"Should you be there?" Bruce asks, and Jason shakes his head.

"You asked me to come," he says, and Bruce leaves it for a while, gets back to work hocking samples of soup and little pieces of pastry and Jason's fine, it's fine, except this time on break he sneaks out to the alleyway and huffs the joint Roy snuck him as a parting gift on Thursday.

He comes back stoned as shit, probably reeking like weed, and when Bruce asks him where he's been he just laughs. They pack up their booth around six, Jason dropping things left and right while Bruce just keeps _sighing_ at him.

"If you didn't want to come," Bruce says on their way up to the hotel, "You could have said no."

Jason snorts. He's starting to come down, and he can feel a headache creeping in. "Like I've ever said that to you."

"Jason," Bruce says. He stops outside their hotel door. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Jason says. He snatches the key out of Bruce's back pocket and gets the door open. Bruce ordered them two double beds, and Jason stayed up in his last night bookmarking new recipes on his phone and listening to Bruce snore.

"Did you and Tim have a fight?" Bruce asks, and Jason laughs. He plops down on one of the beds, kicks his feet up on the mattress and looks up at Bruce.

"No, we didn't have a little fight," Jason says. "He probably dumped me and forgot to tell me. That's karma, right?"

"No," Bruce says. He reaches for Jason's shoes and starts taking them off. "What happened with us was different, Jay. You were very young. You still are."

Jason looks at him. Bruce shaved for this stupid convention thing, did his hair like he only does if someone _important_ is coming to the restaurant. He's wearing his perfect white chef's coat and Jason wants to fuck up every part of him.

He wants to ruin everything, all at once.

"I loved you," Jason says, and it comes out mean, sharp. "More than anything. And I still fucking left. What kind of hope does that leave for anyone else?"

Bruce drops his shoes to the floor, sits down on the opposite bed. "I don't know," he says, and Jason moves, feels the ground try to spin out from under him as he gets in Bruce's face, puts his hands on Bruce's shoulders and tries to kiss him. Bruce turns his face away, and Jason catches his cheek.

"No," Bruce says.

"Excuse you," Jason says, and Bruce pushes him back, one big hand on his chest.

"Not like this," Bruce says.

"So like what?" Jason scowls. He drops to his knees, pushes Bruce's legs apart. "Like this?"

"Jay," Bruce says, and he sounds wrecked and Jason doesn't _care_.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Jason asks. "To get me alone? To take me back?"

Bruce shuts his eyes. He's quiet for seconds, for weeks. "Yes," he whispers, and Jason drops his head, buries his face in Bruce's thigh and he doesn't even realize he's crying until he feels Bruce's hand on his head, brushing his hair back.

"Jay," Bruce says. "What do you want?"

And it should be a simple question, it should be so _easy_ , but it leaves Jason shaking, trying to find his way to his feet.

"When do we leave?" he asks.

"Check out's at eleven," Bruce says. "But -"

"Okay," Jason says. "I'll be back before then."

He grabs the spare hotel key off the nightstand, checks his pocket for his phone, and leaves Bruce sitting there on the bed.

*

"You were amazing," Tim keeps saying. "Amazing." His eyes are lit up like fucking Christmas and his hair is messed up from the crowd. Everyone's hanging out after the show to smoke a blunt in the parking lot, but Tim pulled him aside close to a patch of grass to talk to him. Roy's ears still ring from playing drums harder than he ever has before, but he can hear Tim just fine.

"We were shit," Roy says. "Like always."

"No," Tim says. He pokes his finger into Roy's chest. "Jay told me about you on stage, but I didn't know."

Roy swallows. His mouth still tastes like Jack and weed, but Donna and Jesse ran off and they were the only ones smart enough to bring water. "Jay talked about me?"

"All the time," Tim says. He's high, and standing too close, and Roy can smell sweat and flour, that bakery smell that never really leaves him or Jason.

"I used to sneak him into shows," Roy says. "Tiny little thing always followed me around. Used to get in so much trouble."

"I believe it," Tim says. He grins, looks up at Roy. He slides his hands onto Roy's hips. "I would've gotten in trouble for you, too," he says.

"Kid," Roy says. "You're gonna get me in trouble _now_."

"I'm not," Tim says, but he's leaning in, up, and Roy smells the booze on his breath, the weed they've been smoking all night. "I just -"

Roy grabs him, gets those bony little hips in his hands and holds on _tight_ when Tim crushes their mouths together, licks his way between Roy's lips and sucks _hard_ and Roys been thinking about this for weeks, fucking _months_ , and Tim's hands scrabble under his shirt, blunt little nails scratching at him and when Roy tries to pull back Tim _moans._

"Tim," Roy breathes out. "We -"

"Don't tell me no," Tim says and Roy doesn't, can't, lets Tim jump into his arms and wrap himself around him until they go flying backward into the grass and Tim's laughing hysterically, clawing at Roy's t-shirt and grinding down against him.

"Tim," Roy says and Tim stops laughing and at looks at him, eyes wide and _caught_.

"Hey," Roy says. He pushes his fingers through Tim's hair and Tim shivers, and Roy realizes how fucking cold it's gotten and Tim's just wearing some tiny fucking t-shirt. "We should get back."

Tim nods and climbs off of him, and Roy gets to his feet. They walk back slowly to the others, and Roy feels the panic starting to rise in his chest until Tim leans over and murmurs, "You guys really do kind of suck, you know."

"Yeah," Roy laughs. "I know."

*

The car ride back from Central City is silent. Jason pretends to sleep and Bruce lets him, keeps the radio low and doesn't try to talk. Bruce drops him outside of his apartment and Jason looks back at him for a minute while he's grabbing his backpack.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow," Bruce says, and it's almost a question.

"Yeah," Jason says. He almost says _I'm sorry_ or something he doesn't mean, but he leaves it at that and heads upstairs.

When he gets there, Tim's asleep on his couch with the TV playing a _Charmed_ rerun. Jason almost passes him by, but Tim opens his eyes and looks at him and Jason stops. He sets his backpack down on the floor, kneels down in front of where Tim's laying on the couch.

"Hi," Jason says.

"Hi," Tim says. "How was your trip?"

"Shitty," Jason says. "How was Roy's gig?"

"Shitty," Tim echoes. "But amazing, you know?"

"I know," Jason says. He used to do just about anything to get into Roy's shows when he was a kid, just to watch him up there pounding on the drums like John fucking Bonham.

"Jay," Tim says. He squirms out of the blanket cocoon so he can sit up. "We gotta talk."

"Yeah," Jason says. He feels wrecked, like he spent the weekend mainlining tequila. "I know we do. But can we just…"

Tim looks at him for a minute, then nods. "Okay," he says. "Come watch with me, it's the mermaid episode."

Jason gets on the couch next to him and Tim maneuvers around so they can share the blanket. "Roy loves this episode," Jason says.

"Yeah," Tim says. "I know."

They doze off together watching TV, and it's dark by the time Jason wakes up. Tim must have got up to turn the TV off at some point, and now he's sitting up doing something on his phone. When he looks up and sees Jason's awake, he takes a deep breath and spits out, "I made out with Roy last night."

"Oh," Jason says. It's not what he was expecting to hear, but what's more surprising is that it doesn't hurt as much as it maybe should.

"I wanted to do a lot more," Tim says. "I'm. I think -"

"He loves you," Jason says, and as soon as he says it, he knows it's true. Roy's been attached to Tim at the hips for months, but Jason kind of figured it was. Whatever. Kori being gone, and Jason being distracted, whatever.

Tim says, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jason says. He pushes the blankets off himself, grabs his pack of cigarettes out of his backpack and lights one. "I tried to get Bruce to fuck me."

"Yeah," Tim says. "I thought you might," he says, and whatever look Jason has on his face must startle him, because he says, "I just mean - Jay, you guys…"

"It's fucked," Jason says.

"It doesn't have to be," Tim says. 

Jason snorts. "You should be fucking furious," he says.

"Part of me is," Tim says. "I feel like you've been lying to me for a while. I mean, were we in love?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "We were."

Jason was crazy about Tim when they first got together, needed to spend every minute just _touching_ him. They'd mess around in the back room on their breaks, obvious to everyone. Tim never seemed to go home, and for a while, maybe until Roy moved in, it never bothered Jason.

Other things did though, like the messes of clutter Tim left everywhere he went, and how he was always waking up in the middle of the night to go play XBox, coming back at 3AM and waking Jason up.

"Yeah," Tim says. He stands up, pushes his hands through his hair and starts looking around for his shoes. "Look," he says. "If this is gonna fuck up anything with you and Roy -"

"It won't," Jason says. Honestly, it hadn't occurred to him that he _should_ be mad at Roy. "Unless you fuck him over, I mean," he says, and Tim offers a weak smile for the weak joke.

"You and Bruce can do this, you know," Tim says. "If you want to."

"Maybe," Jason says, and Tim finishes tying his shoes, comes back over to the couch and leans down and kisses the top of Jason's head. Jason reaches for him, pulls him in for a real kiss, and Jason thinks about how many times they've fucked in this exact spot, how many times he called Tim _baby._ Tim sighs into his mouth, then pulls back. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jay," he says. "Get some sleep."

Jason doesn't, though. He stays on the couch for hours watching fucking _Charmed_ and holding his phone in his hand tight enough to break it until finally, when all that's fucking left on TV are infomercials, he calls Bruce.

*

"Jay," Bruce says. It's three in the damn morning and Bruce was at the restaurant until almost midnight scrubbing every surface he could find, doing anything to keep from having to go home. Every step he makes in that place echoes. "Are you -"

"I need to see you," Jason spits out. He sounds panicked, like that time he saw one of the kids he used to know from the streets and he thought Bruce was going to judge him for it.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asks. He sits up in bed, feels around on the floor for his sweatpants.

"Nothing. I mean - Tim and I broke up," Jason says.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says.

"No you're not," Jason says. He laughs. "But it's fine. That's not why - can I come over?"

"Of course," Bruce says. "I'll pick you up."

Jason doesn't say anything on the way back to Bruce's house. He smokes five cigarettes in fifteen minutes and jiggles his leg up and down until Bruce reaches over and puts his hand over it. Then Jason looks over him, breathes out smoke, and stops.

It's only when they get in the house that Bruce remembers the kitchen counter is covered in pizza and takeout boxes, and Jason takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.

"Don't," Bruce says.

"Sorry," Jason says. He helps Bruce trash the whole mess, because it's days old anyway, and then he pokes his head into the refrigerator and does the same thing there. Bruce stands back just listening to him bitch - "you're a chef, Bruce, _jesus_ " - because this is the loudest it's been in this house in months, and it's.

"So when are you going to tell me why you're here?" Bruce asks after he comes back from taking out the second load of trash. Jason's sitting on the now-clean counter, swinging his feet back and forth with his head against the cabinets. Bruce steps over to him and Jason hooks his legs around him, puts his hands on Bruce's shoulders.

"You know when I left," Jason says. He swallows, tips his head back toward the light. "You know I _had_ to leave, Bruce."

"I know," Bruce says. Even in his darkest, most alcoholic state, Bruce knew _why_.

"I thought," Jason says. "I mean, okay, partly I left because I was a fucking brat pulling a tantrum, but. Part of me thought that if I left we'd be healthier for it. I wasn't good for you, Bruce."

"Jason," Bruce says. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

"B," Jason says. He looks ready to cry, and Bruce wants to scoop him up and put him to bed, lock the doors and never let him leave.

"I thought a lot about it," Jason stammers. "When I left, about how. How we wrecked each other."

And Bruce's chest goes empty, his head goes still, because he always knew he had done something terrible by holding Jason so close to him, by resenting when Jason would go off with the others. He knows he's too moody, too old, too _fucked up_ for someone like Jason. But Jason came at him with those big blue eyes, with that hustler smile, with a laugh like a trainwreck and Bruce didn't know what else to _do_.

Before they started, Jason used to sit curled up on the couch reading through every book on Bruce's shelves. He'd clean every surface of Bruce's house, bitching all the while about what an animal Bruce was. And when Bruce would say good night, Jason would smile up at him from his spot on the couch, like Bruce had done the best thing in the world for him, and he didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, and Jason blinks at him.

"For what?" Jason says, and then he laughs. "For cradle-robbing? Don't be. For teaching me how to be the best fucking pastry chef this side of the Atlantic? Fuck off, Bruce, that's not what I mean."

"Then what," Bruce says.

"I'm not talking about,"Jason says, "any of that." Jason puts his hand on Bruce's shoulder, and his hand is strong from years of kneading bread dough, not bruised and scratched from fighting like when they first met. "I'm talking about how fucking bad we need each other, all the time."

"Oh," Bruce says, and Jason laughs again.

"Yeah," he says. " _Oh_. I'm talking about how we're fucking stuck with each other."

"That's not…" Bruce starts, and Jason gives him a look.

Jason used to wake him up in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, wrap his leg around Bruce and sigh into his neck until he woke up. He'd claw at Bruce's arms those times, desperate and shook up, and Dick would laugh the next day when Bruce rolled the sleeves of his chef's coat up the next day and reveal the scratches.

"Everything okay at home?" Dick would ask, and Bruce would hum an affirmative noise and tell Dick to find something to do with himself.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing, B," Jason says. He slips his fingers under Bruce's collar, puts his hand over Bruce's heart. "It's not. Maybe it's not healthy, but it's."

"Jason," Bruce says, because he thinks he's finally getting it. "Are you?"

"Yeah, Bruce," Jason says. He tips his head down, touches Bruce's forehead with his. "I think I'm coming home."

Bruce doesn't wait for anything else then, just scoops Jason off the counter and into his arms. Jason's heavier than when he used to do this, but it doesn't matter, doesn't mean anything when Jason wraps his arms around him and squeezes.

"Say it again," Bruce says in Jason's ear, and Jason huffs, but says, "I'm not leaving."

"Jay," Bruce says, and kisses him hard, licks into his mouth and squeezes Jason's ass until Jason _whimpers._

"Bedroom," Jason murmurs into Bruce's mouth, and Bruce nods and carries him there.

*

The bed is unmade, covered in books on the side where Jason used to sleep. Bruce sets Jason down on the edge of the bed, brushes the books to the floor next to a pile of clothes and looks down at Jason.

This is the point, Jason knows, where he should start to panic, both of them maybe. This is when he'd go tearing out of here, crying and apologizing and telling Bruce they're too _fucked up._

None of that happens.

Bruce leans down to kiss Jason, soft this time, and he smells like aftershave and fresh bread, like the first time he kissed Jason for real.

They were here in the kitchen, baking muffins because Bruce had guests coming over. Jason was nervous, kept offering to stay somewhere else for the night.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bruce said. "They'll love you."

And they did. Diana asked him a hundred questions about himself, and Mera hugged him tight, smelling like the ocean.

After they left, telling Jason he'd be an amazing baker someday, Jason couldn't stop smiling. He floated around helping Bruce clean up, splashing Bruce with soapy water, and Bruce chased him around the kitchen island with a dish towel, finally cornering him against the refrigerator.

They both froze, Jason's hands going still against Bruce's chest, Bruce's eyes wide like he was seeing Jason for the first time. Then Jason tipped his head up and Bruce leaned down, brushed his lips against Jason's and held him there.

"Fucker," Jason said after Bruce pulled back, and he laughed. "I've only been waiting forever."

Now, Bruce holds Jason's face in both hands, tilts Jason back so he can kiss his chin, his neck, the little birthmark right above his collar bone. "I missed you," Jason blurts out, and Bruce's teeth graze bone.

What Jason _means_ is _don't let me leave again._

Bruce takes Jason's shirt off, and he pauses at the new ink over Jason's heart, a phoenix rising. Bruce was pissed the first time he got inked, well before he turned eighteen. One of Roy's friends did it for him, and when Jason came home with a Shakespeare quote down his arm Bruce told him he was an idiot.

Now, Bruce licks every sharp line of Jason's tattoo with his tongue, and Jason runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, searching out every fleck of grey.

He used to joke that he made Bruce go grey.

When Bruce gets to his jeans, he stops and looks up at Jason. He looks dazed, and old, and Jason loves him so much.

"Jay," Bruce says. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, B," Jason says, but Bruce still doesn't move.

"I can't," Bruce says. "If you left again, I." He'd survive, Jason knows, but that's not the question. The two of them can _survive_ anything, but that's not the point.

Jason drags him in and kisses him again. "I'm not leaving," Jason says. He bites Bruce's throat, digs his thumbs into Bruce's shoulders. "I'm not. I'm _not_."

"Okay," Bruce says. He pulls Jason's jeans and boxers down and lays him out on the bed, and Jason all but chokes Bruce with his thighs when Bruce takes him in. Bruce's beard tickles his skin, and he squeezes Jason's ass and takes down all of him, and Jason doesn't even realize he's shouting until Bruce pulls off to raise his eyebrows at him and say, "I do still have neighbors, you know."

"Fuck 'em," Jason laughs. "They're gonna have to deal with me again."

Bruce hums, sucks a kiss into Jason's thigh. "You really are staying then?" he asks, and Jason tugs his hair.

"Are you going deaf on me already, old man?" Jason asks, and Bruce scowls at him. "Besides, you still have all the good baking utensils."

"Ah, the truth comes out," Bruce says, but Jason doesn't answer him, because Bruce does something with his tongue that makes him want to die.

They stay in bed for a long time. The sun is up when Bruce makes him come for the third time in an hour, and Jason's phone alarm starts going off to tell him to get up for work.

"Don't," Bruce grumbles when Jason tries to get out of bed.

"I gotta go," Jason says. "People need their pastries, Bruce."

"I think I liked it better when you were an irresponsible punk," Bruce says, but he lets Jason up and smiles at him. It's a real smile, the kind Jason hasn't seen from Bruce in a long fucking time.


End file.
